


Between Sleep And Awake

by Mistiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistiel/pseuds/Mistiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles opens his eyes he knows he's dreaming, mostly because he's had this dream more than a dozen times before, especially after his mother died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Sleep And Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for [creativelythoughturl](http://creativelythoughturl.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr~ Unbeta'd, cause I'm a loser like that. So all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy. :3

When Stiles opens his eyes he knows he's dreaming, mostly because he's had this dream more than a dozen times before, especially after his mother had died. But this is different somehow. The colors are brighter and sharper, and for one he finds himself in the middle of a field when he sits up.

Climbing to his feet, Stiles walks a few paces and stops at the sight of her back, long brown hair blowing in the gentle breeze. She looks back at him and smiles, and she looks just as she does in all his other dreams, in all the photos he has of her, all pictures in frames neither him or his father had ever bothered taking down.

Stiles joins her, standing by her side and rather a field they're overlooking it's the town of Beacon Hills. Like they're on some ledge over the world and he can see every little house. Can see his, Scott's, can see the school and the patch of forest where he knows the burnt remains of the Hale house are.

Her hand slides into his and Stiles clenches his fingers around it, can feel the tears rise up sharp and blurring his vision. He turns to her and opens his mouth but she shushes him gently and wipes the back of her hand across his face, clearing the tears in motherly affection. It makes him cry that much harder, because even now he misses her so much, never really stopped.

He feels her arms wrap around him and her scent fills his nose as he buries his face in her chest and sobs. She holds him until they die down and he's a sniffling mess when he pulls back and she rubs her hand over the soft fuzz that is his hair.

"I miss being able to ruffle it," she says, voice soft and bell like, just the way he remembers it.

Stiles gives a watery laugh and runs his own hand over it. "At least I won't need a ton of product to fix it up."

"Mm," is all she says in reply as she looks down, Stiles following her gaze. The field they were standing in is now covered in soft pink carnations. Her favorite. Stiles remembers buying bouquets off them for her birthday and Mother's day when she'd been alive, and even still after her death. It makes him smile as he leans down to pluck one from the ground and when he stands he hands it to her.

She smiles as she takes it, bringing it up to inhale it's sweet scent. They talk then, about everything and anything; school, his dad and how he worries. About Scott and his unhealthy attachment to Allison, that Jackson is still the douchiest douche to ever douche -- some of the time anyway, that Lydia is still the prettiest thing he's ever seen even if he loves her more like a sister than a crush. He tells her about the werewolves of Beacon Hills, about Derek and his new, strange pack that he's still getting used to being a part of somehow. 

Which of course leads to the obviously inevitable question.

"Are you going to tell me about him?" She asks after a moment and immediately Stiles blushes, because there's no one else she could mean besides Derek.

"I -- he's -- um. He's... Derek? I don't -- really know how to describe him, I guess," Stiles starts out, shrugging. "He's challenging and he doesn't treat me differently than he does anyone else. He's... hot and perfect but flawed and he tries, even though he sucks at it sometimes, but he's a good guy even if he does make a ton of mistakes. But he _tries_."

She watches her son thoughtfully as a slow smile blooms across her face. "Does he make you happy?"

Stiles looks up and squints, the sun almost blinding him and blocking out her figure in front of him. "Yeah, he does actually. I'm -- I'm really happy with him. I think... I think I might actually love him."

"Then that's all that matters," she says, her smile almost as blinding as the sun behind her and Stiles as has to cup his hand above his eyes to see her. "All I want is for you to be happy."

They're silent for a few moments before Stiles nods and smiles, "I'm happy, happier than I've been in awhile, I guess. Even with everything going on, when I'm with him, I feel safe and relaxed and... yeah, happy."

"That's all a mother wants for her son, for him to be happy."

"So you're not... you know, cause it's a guy?"

She laughs again and shakes her head, shoulders shaking. "Of course not, honey, never. Love is what it is. You don't choose who you want to love, love chooses you."

There's another moment of silence as she looks over her shoulder, her smile softening a little more before she turns back toward him and his chest seizes up. Stiles knows what's coming.

"I have to go, sweetie," she says as she floats closer, feet soft and silent against the ground and when she's close enough her arms sweep him up into a hug.

"You can't -- don't go," Stiles chokes out, his arms a vice around her, holding her close against him. "Don't go, mom, please. Just a little longer."

"Shh, shh, we'll see each other again."

She pulls away and Stiles tries to cling to her, hands groping for her shirt or her hands or her arms, but his fingers are always out of reach. He always hates this part of his dreams, because he knows it means he's waking up and he won't see her again for a good long while. He never dreams of her as frequently as he'd like or thought he would, not even after the first few months of her death.

But at he same time it feels good to tell her all the things he's wanted to, all the things he's held in or told to her headstone rather than her face. It lifts something in him, makes this cross more bearable to wear, the secrets that he holds. He just wishes he had more time.

When Stiles wakes this time, wakes for real, the first thing he sees is Derek looking down at him, hovered over his body on the bed they're sharing at the somewhat livable Hale house. Derek's face is drawn up in a frown and his eyes are Alpha-red, like he thinks if he uses his super awesome Alpha powers he can see what's wrong.

"What's wrong? Why so frowny face?" Stiles asks as he reaches up to try to smooth away the lines on the Alpha's forehead.

"You were crying, I could smell your tears. Are you okay?" And honestly, Stiles loves it when Derek gets all weirdly worried like this. Even though there's no doubt in his mind that Derek cares about him -- loves him maybe -- it's still nice to see it.

"I -- Yeah, I'm okay. Just... had a dream about my mom."

Derek's face softens immediately and the red in his eyes slowly fades back to the slate gray color they usually are as he nods. He doesn't ask or pry, he never does and Stiles is grateful. Those dreams, of him and his mom, are his alone. Things he doesn't want to share with anyone, even Derek. And he knows and is thankful that Derek understands.

Instead of saying anything Derek merely blankets himself over Stiles like a huge werewolf comforter, he's sure warm enough for it. The man dips his head in and snuffles along Stiles' neck before jerking back and staring at the human in surprise.

Stiles looks up at him, brow raised but Derek just smiles and shakes his head before going back to scenting him, tongue laving across a spot on his neck. It makes Stiles giggle a little, the spot a little ticklish. He turns his head when Derek moves to the other side. His gaze wanders over the darkened room and lands on the nightstand by the bed where a lamp that doesn't work sits.

His whole body goes rigid, so quick that Derek pulls back to look down at the teen. "What is it? Stiles, what's wrong?"

Stiles swallows a little and nods his head toward the nightstand, where a pink flower lays, still in full bloom. "Where -- where did you get that?" He asks, and Derek looks over at it before shrugging.

"It was there when I came in to wake you. I could smell your tears from downstairs. I thought something was wrong and came up to see if you were alright." Derek raised a brow as he reaches to the nightstand to pick it up, but Stiles reaches it first and snatches it up.

Derek doesn't say or do anything, just lets him take it. "Sorry," Stiles says after a moment. "It's -- they were-" But Derek cuts Stiles off with a finger to his lips as he shakes his head.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain," says Derek, lips curved in a soft smile and Stiles knows Derek understands and he lets out a shaky sigh and smiles. 

"I'll be right back," Derek says as he gets up from the bed.

Stiles watches as Derek retreats and can't help but smile a little more. Derek is a lot more better at the whole showing emotions things than he used to be. It was a ton of work on both their part but right now they're in a good place. Derek's, for the most part, still his same old sour wolf self. But when they're alone like this, Derek lets him see moments like these that no one else would be privy to. 

It just makes Stiles love him even more.

When Derek returns it's with a small slender vase which he sets on the nightstand and Stiles lets out a shaky, watery breath as he reaches across to drop the flower into it.

Then the Alpha is moving up onto the bed with him, stretching out behind him and wrapping Stiles up in his arms, chest pressing warm and solid against his back. A comforting weight.

Derek presses a kiss just behind his ear, his voice warm and soft as he speaks. "She approves then?" he asks, which makes Stiles both laugh and cry.

"Yeah, she definitely approves."

"Good, I don't think I'd be able to win that fight."

Stiles snorts softly, wipes at his face before his hands come down to cover Derek's own, squeezing them. "No one would," he says in amusement. The idea that Derek would fight for him makes his chest warm.

"Go back to sleep, Stiles," Derek murmurs, nuzzling against the teen's neck.

And basking in the warmth of Derek's lips against his skin, Stiles does.


End file.
